The Deception by the Duck
by GalaxieGurl
Summary: Sweets gets an earful regarding his decision not to inform Brennan that Booth's supposed death and funeral were part of an FBI covert operation.
1. Chapter 1

The Deception by the Duck

 _A/N: Last night I watched the episode "The Pain in the Heart" in which Zack Addy is injured in service to Gormogon, Booth's faked death and funeral are staged as a covert operation to catch a reclusive criminal, and Sweets' dastardly experimenting with Brennan's emotions is revealed. That decision on his part is the root of my dislike for the character. This story is an attempt to understand his unfeeling subterfuge._

Chapter 1

Dr. Lance Sweets hung up the phone. He had received a call from Dr. Howard Fellenstern, the head of FBI Behavioral Analysis, discussing the list of people Special Agent Booth had requested the FBI notify that his death was a ruse to catch a crime boss from a past case. Because of the sensitive nature of the information, the list was to be couriered to Sweets later that afternoon.

When it arrived an hour later, he signed the delivery notice and tracking log, and thanked the courier. Closing his office door, Sweets opened the manila envelope and perused the list. He could have predicted each of the names: Rebecca, with the discretion left to her how best to inform young Parker, Booth's grandfather Hank, his brother Jared, if he could be contacted at sea, and Dr. Temperance Brennan.

The young psychologist read the list again, then turned to the credenza behind his desk. He glanced at the manuscript proposal of his book, recently returned from his publisher, who contended his case study of the FBI partners needed more in-depth evidence of how they worked together; what made them 'tick' and their partnership so successful. He rested his elbows on his desk and steeped his fingers, lost in thought.

How could he delve deeper into the unique connection he had witnessed between Booth and Brennan; a partnership of two people who'd face danger or death to protect one another, yet stoutly denied that their relationship went beyond the professional work they shared so ardently. The pair guarded their privacy like Dobermans, and the only clues Sweets gleaned were those which slipped out unintentionally or he perceived by pondering their behavior in his office during their FBI- mandated sessions.

Booth was perceptive enough to recognize Sweets' curiosity and skillfully concealed his feelings. Brennan's protective shell of rationality forged during abusive foster experiences was virtually opaque and impenetrable. How could he pierce the unemotional mask she presented to outsiders?

He puzzled and mulled this conundrum the rest of the afternoon and through the evening over his carryout meal of chicken parmigiana. As he washed his few dinner dishes, an idea struck him. What if Brennan didn't know about the FBI's ruse? How would she react to Booth's demise as a result of protecting her?

Would she experience guilt over his taking a bullet Pam Nunan had meant for her? Would her emotions cause a crack in the US Bullion Depository she'd put up around her heart? Or would she continue compartmentalizing this loss as she had her parents' disappearance and brother's abandonment years earlier? Sweets smiled to himself.

The insights he could gain from observing Temperance Brennan might possibly be so profound as to set his book apart from other recently-published psychoanalytic studies. The baby duck yawned, stretched, and headed to bed, pondering his plan as he dozed off.

Chapter 2

The next morning, Sweets unlocked his office door while balancing a cup of coffee and cream cheese bagel. Once seated at his desk, he paused briefly, pondering the ethics of what he planned to do; this experiment involving Dr. Brennan. Was it fair to cause the scientist that unnecessary pain? He considered this, wondering how much grief Temperance Brennan might feel, given her extraordinary talent for compartmentalizing her emotions?

He recalled that night at the Checkerbox Club. Her immediate reaction had been quite distraught, intense, and agonized as she yelled at her injured partner,

"Come on, Booth! You're gonna be fine! Come on, come on Booth!"

Yet, in the space of an instant, she'd had the presence of mind to pick up Booth's gun and fire a clean precise shot straight through Pam Nuna's throat with the coolness of a ninja. At the hospital she had vigorously protested not being allowed to see Booth's body.

But since then, the anthropologist had focused on bone identification in Limbo, showing little emotional response to her partner's absence from the lab. Although she was barred from examining Pam Nunan's bones, she'd interacted with Hodgins and Cam as usual with general suggestions regarding their findings.

The woman's autopsy, conducted at the FBI, was routine. Aside from her obesity, she was young, and the cause of her death was patently obvious to anyone who'd been at the karaoke club that night. The single shot, clean through her neck, had meant instant death. The bullet had been retrieved from the floor, and matched to Agent Booth's FBI standard-issue firearm.

It was a clear case of self-defense, as Ms. Nunan had been aiming at her perceived rival the entire time. Only Brennan's quick reflexes, excellent aim, and cool reaction had prevented her from becoming a second victim, bleeding on the floor beside Booth.

Sweets peppered Brennan with questions about her feelings during the four days following Booth's being shot. He came to her office with the pretense of needing a signature, accosted her in the Lab's lounge getting coffee, and _just happened_ to encounter her in the Jeffersonian's elevator and parking garage. Brennan's responses were measured, low-key, and plain-spoken.

Booth's valor would be missed at the FBI, his fatherly warmth, guidance, and love would be missed by Parker, and his friendship would be missed by their team.

"But what about you, Dr. Brennan? How do you feel about Booth's passing?"

The fourth time Sweets approached her, Brennan looked him straight in the eye, and said tartly,

"Dr. Sweets, I've informed the FBI I don't wish to work with another partner, so my future activities will be focused on bone identification here at the Jeffersonian, study of ancient remains, and participation in anthropological dig expeditions I'm invited to join."

"My partner is dead, because of his misguided attempts to protect me, and my wishing for his return won't restore him to life. That is a fruitless endeavor and a waste of my energy. I will honor his memory best by continuing my work here."

"If Rebecca feels it's appropriate, I may keep in touch with Parker at a later date, and possibly with Booth's grandfather Hank, once their sorrow has eased."

"I would appreciate it if you would stop pestering me with repeated questions about my state of mind. Death is the permanent cessation of life; there is nothing beyond it, and no reason to dwell on the past. Now, if you will excuse me, I have bones to examine."

As she drew a deep breath and turned abruptly, he noticed dark smudges under her eyes, and her shoulders slumped slightly with a look of fatigue. Brennan walked resolutely past him and unceremoniously closed the door to her office.

Lance Sweets stared at the closed door in surprise. She had never dismissed him like that. A voice behind him interrupted his thoughts. Cam had quietly observed their exchange.

"Dr. Sweets, leave Dr. Brennan be. Why do you keep bothering her?"

"Uh, I'm not, Dr. Saroyan, just concerned that she might want to talk." _How did the woman slip up behind him in her high heels so soundlessly?_ he wondered. That was a wicked effective ninja skill!

Cam's dismissal of him was definite and pointed.

"Lance, I think Dr. Brennan has made it abundantly clear that she doesn't wish to discuss Booth's death any further with you. We are all sad, but you poking at us accomplishes nothing! Why don't you go check on the FBI's progress on Pam Nunan's autopsy blood work results and email the results to me and Dr. Hodgins? We can't work on the case, but I'd like to know if she had ingested any drugs before confronting Brennan at the Checkerbox."

Chapter 3

The morning of Booth's funeral dawned sunny and warm. Brennan resolved to stay in the lab since she had no use for empty ceremonies conducted near a hole in the ground. She'd been talking to Booth in her head, despite her awareness that he no longer existed, though she'd never have admitted as much to any of her friends. She came up from Modular Bone Storage to refill her coffee cup, and encountered the entire contingent of her lab team, dressed and ready to depart for Arlington National Cemetery's chapel. Even Zack was wearing a tie. Their entreaties for her to accompany them fell on deaf ears. She had NO intention of wasting her day listening to useless blubbering and empty platitudes. Until….

Angela gently drew her aside and begged for her companionship at the funeral.

"I have to go to this, and I can't go alone! I need my best friend!" the artist declared, with tears in her eyes.

Remembering Angela's stark sorrow at losing her boyfriend Kirk in the desert, Brennan couldn't refuse her gentle-spirited, artistic soul, and relented with a deep sigh.

Once Caroline Julian stepped forward, briefly eulogizing Booth as she laid a rose on his casket, Brennan could not resist.

"I'd have been glad to take that bullet instead of Booth!" she fumed to Angela.

A man approached from behind the mourners, a rose in his hand as well.

The sergeant at arms crisply announced the rifle volley to honor Booth, the military team raised their weapons in unison to fire the first shot, and then chaos broke loose. One of the soldiers dove for the intruder, who wrestled with him rolling over the grass, bumping the flag-draped casket. It toppled off its stand, and fell open as it hit the ground, revealing a weighted dummy inside. As the stranger gained an advantage over the soldier, his cover fell off, revealing Seeley Booth.

Simultaneously frightened for her partner's safety and angered at his deception, Temperance Brennan picked up the dummy's leg, decked the assailant with one precise swing, then turned and socked Booth in the jaw; before stalking away from the gravesite in utter disgust.

Later at the lab, Booth demanded to know why she was so angry with him, and stared in disbelief at her incensed declaration that she had been told NOTHING about his death being staged. Over his protests that she had been on the list of people to be told of the covert operation, Brennan descended the steps into Bone Storage and closed the exam room door.

Chapter 4

The next morning, found Booth and Brennan still arguing about his responsibility to let her know he was alive. Their unexpected encounter in Booth's bathroom had been sufficiently heated that neither embarrassment nor apology had entered the conversation. Booth confronted Sweets regarding the catastrophic lapse in communications. The younger man declared he knew Dr. Brennan could compartmentalize, and it was rational to limit the number of people aware of the FBI ruse. He had therefore decided not to inform Brennan that Booth was alive. Dragging his young associate to her office, Booth demanded he explain to Brennan. The scientist accepted Sweets' explanation, and assured Booth it made total sense.

However…..

In the wake of Zack's and Hodgin's experiment gone wrong, and the intern's horrific injuries, Cam strode into Brennan's office, with a worried expression, in the midst of her conversation with Booth and Sweets. The Jeffersonian supervisor's serious countenance silenced them all.

"I think you need to come see something in the vault,"

The trio followed her down the stairs, Booth in the lead. As he descended out of earshot, Brennan paused on the landing, stopping Sweets in his tracks. She grabbed his lapels and nailed him with a no-holds-barred stare that could freeze boiling water in an instant. Her expression and tone of voice deadly serious, she issued a crystal clear ultimatum of warning to him in no uncertain terms.

"I know what you've been doing with us, and you better back off. We agreed to meet with you, for your book, but not to your experiments. Our relationship is ours, not yours to toy with. If it happens again, I will tell Booth, and he will beat you up! So stop it!"

Lance Sweets blanched, gulped in spite of himself, and held his breath until Brennan turned abruptly to follow Booth.

"Dr. Brennan is NOT a safe person to have mad at you!" he told himself. "Talk about an enraged lioness! Nothing escapes her notice. I guess I've overstepped my bounds. I will have to rethink my whole approach to this book."

Later that night, he opened the safe in his office, placed the book manuscript inside, and relocked the little vault. "I stepped on thin ice today; very thin ice, perhaps nearly broke my professional code of conduct." he muttered to himself. "I'm not even sure it's ethical to publish my theories on why they work so well together."


	2. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 _A/N: One of the readers following this story asked for a follow up chapter. Another reader commented that the entire story was superfluous. This is my effort to rectify that situation._

Lance Sweets became aware of the annoying buzz of the alarm on his cell phone vibrating against the ebony surface of his night stand. He opened one eye and reached over to silence it, trying to recall why he'd set himself such an early wake-up time for a Sunday morning.

"Oh, yeah, Father's Day," he reminded himself sleepily. Knowing he had quite a drive ahead to accomplish his objective, Sweets rolled out of bed and headed for his bathroom to shower and shave. Once dressed, he went to the kitchen, poured himself a cup of coffee into his travel mug, and opened the refrigerator to remove the two large bouquets of carnations he'd purchased the previous evening.

After locking the door to his apartment, he packed the tall cyclindrical vases in a box of crumpled newspaper to keep them upright, and placed it on the floor of the front passenger seat. Pulling out into the light traffic, he listened to _Meet the Press_ for the first half-hour of his drive toward Baltimore.

His adoptive father Rex Finley had served in the Navy, stationed in the Pacific during World War II, finishing his 20 years as a Naval Reservist. His machinist mate assignments had become his civilian career as a heating and air contractor. Shortly before shipping out, he'd met and married Loretta a telephone operator at Bethlehem Steel's Fairfield Yard where Liberty ships were built. Unable to have kids of their own, the Finleys had fostered numerous children before adopting him.

As the newscasters' discussion droned on the radio, Lance thought back to their selfless decision to give him a permanent home, rescuing him from further abuse, at a point in their lives when the relaxation of retirement beckoned. Not too different from what Hank Booth had done for Agent Booth and his brother Jared, he mused. Or what _no one_ had done for Dr. Brennan during her three awful years in 'the system' before she aged out, he realized with a sickening feeling of guilt about his recent treatment of her.

Reaching Baltimore, he took the familiar exit nearest his home and drove past the house he'd sold to a young family after his step-parents' deaths. From there he headed for Baltimore National Cemetery, parked his car, and walked through the rows of white marble grave markers to an area near the distinguished service section where Medal of Honor recipient Fireman First Class Loddie Stupka rested.

Sweets leaned down to place the twin carnation bouquets, one red, one pink in front of the Finley's headstone, and stood there, remembering the sting of their unexpected deaths just prior to starting his job at the FBI.

"Happy Father's Day, Dad. Hey, Mom, it's me, Lance. I brought your favorite flowers. Pink for you, and red for Dad with a little American flag like you always put on our Fourth of July picnic tables."

He leaned against a thick aging oak tree and reflected on what they had taught him, and wondered what his step-dad would say about his recent decision not to tell Brennan that her partner had actually survived the bullet he took at the Checkerbox.

He could picture his tall spare father peering at him over his reading glasses with a puzzled frown, pausing for emphasis so his son knew what he was getting ready to say was _really_ important. Rex Finley would tilt his head, fix his son's eyes with a sharp, meaningful glare, and speak quietly in his sonorously deep voice; 

"Lance, why would you deceive someone about a situation so painful? What sort of a research project was so all-fired important that you lied by omission to a colleague? What were you thinking, son? _Did you think?_ Lance, did'ja stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, like we taught you?"

"This scientist friend of yours worked closely with this FBI fellow for over three years, and you didn't tell her he survived? I'm surprised at your lack of empathy, boy. Solving crimes is a dangerous business, and those kind of partners hafta watch each other's backs. Seems like they'd share a pretty close connection, worry about each other."

"Didn't you learn anything about human nature in all those psychology classes you took?" You, of all people, should know how much it hurts to be lonely, confused, and lacking people who care about your well-being."

"That was a pretty unfeeling way to treat that lady; pretty crass of you, Lance. I thought we raised you better than that! What were you trying to prove?"

Lance hung his head, and spoke softly to the pair beneath the carefully-manicured grass.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to realize that. I've been so intrigued with what makes their partnership tick, why it's so successful, in spite of how different they are, how sharply their philosophies and attitudes diverge; I've been looking for ways to gain insight into their processes and interactions."

"They're very private about their relationship, 'just partners' they claim to be, but it's more than that! It has to be! They can communicate without even talking! My idea to observe Dr. Brennan's reactions to Booth's death, and how she handled his loss was an attempt to understand how she processes emotions and copes with change. "

"Obviously, I didn't consider all the ramifications of my 'experiment' as she calls it. She compartmentalizes her feelings so adeptly, it never occurred to me that withholding the truth about Booth being alive would hit her so hard."

"I didn't mean to cause her such great distress, but I certainly did. Really screwed up the situation royally. I'm not even sure the two of them will ever trust me again."

"Actually, I may have damaged my friendships with the entire Jeffersonian team. I wish you guys were still here to guide me like you used to; impart sound advice when I need it. I really miss you both."

He rubbed the back of his head, ruefully and took a deep breath.

"I've got some serious apologizing to do when I get back to the office on Monday, or maybe when the opportunity arises. My mistake is serious enough, I can't just waltz in and casually remark, Gee, Dr. Brennan, I'm sure sorry about screwing up last month."

"I'm gonna have to look before I leap, like you used to say when I was trying to jump across that stream behind our house, or practicing to make the pole-vaulting team in high school We all know how successful that was," he remarked with a wry face. "NOT!"

"I did better at the long jump, but not until I learned to visualize the results I hoped to attain, like you taught me. I got this brilliant idea for observing Dr. Brennan, except that it wasn't brilliant at all, it was wicked wretched."

"I'm going to have to analyze the possible effects and outcomes of what I tell my patients, before I make statements or recommendations to them in a professional capacity. My showing Booth his brain scans and telling him his love for Dr. Brennan was just a figment of his coma dreams; that was another monumentally bad idea. Not to mention very unfeeling."

"I guess I'd better say goodbye for now, and drive back to DC. I think I'm going to dig out my Ethics textbook, spend the rest of the day re-reading its concepts, and examine my professional belief system and code of conduct in light of its precepts. Thanks for listening to my problems; I'll try to get back up here more frequently in the future."

A soft feminine voice played inside his head, "Lance, honey, you don't have to drive to Baltimore to talk to us, you know. We're both always in your heart and mind, right with you if you need us, just like we've always been."

"Yeah, Mom, I know. Sometimes, I just forget how wise you both were. I became too wrapped up in myself, impressed with all my degrees and licenses to remember the basic rules of kindness and considerate living you tried to teach me with the example you set. Love you both."

Feeling a weight lifted from his shoulders, Lance Sweets turned toward the parking lot, and strode back to his car. " _Metaphorically, Dr. Brennan would say,"_ he smiled to himself.


End file.
